Evil Overlord Esquivel
by Runaway Deviant
Summary: Some children were prodigies. Some were geniuses. Other were evil; so, so very evil.


**Title:** Evil Overlord Esquivel  
**Universe:** Transformers: Prime  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** AU AND EXTREMELY OOC RAFAEL. You have been warned.  
**Word Count:** 947  
**Summary:** Some children were prodigies. Some were geniuses. Other were evil; so, so very evil.  
**Disclaimer:** If Transformers in any of its forms were mine, Starscream x Steve would be canon and Soundwave would have a voice. Ergo, Transformers is not mine.

* * *

Here be the original version of a chapter that I wrote for Eradicon Daily, a collab between myself and **_ExplosiveArtBlock_**, whom I beta for.

The beginning was deemed to dark for the dorky theme we're going for, so it was cut and replaced with something... less dark. It's still pretty bleh, truth be told, but oh well.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Oval Office was, as usual, brightly lit and filled to the brim with various bits of patriotic paraphernalia. The midday sun outside shone merrily through the large windows, highlighting the rivulets of sweat running down the neck of the President of the United States of America as he watched his guest swirl his drink around the inside of a glass tumbler.

If one were to describe the person sitting in the chair opposite the leader of the free world, they would probably start off with the word "young". They would then probably follow with the words "plain", "average", "a bit on the short side" and "unthreatening".

They would then promptly be shot by said "unthreatening" person.

The person in the chair flicked his head, his slicked-back hair barely moving, before pushing up his glasses and taking a sip of the white liquid in the glass.

Many people would laugh at the thought of a literal "milk-drinker" making the US President sweat; those people would find their lives drastically shortened if they were caught.

"So, Mister President," he finally spoke up, leaning forward and placing his glass on the President's desk, "about that recent cut to my funding..."

"Please, Mister Esquivel, I-"

"Mister President, really; does this seem like the time to be making excuses?"

"Recent budget cuts- I-I've had to reduce funding to multiple areas and although you've been very important to myself and my campaign- I _have_ to put the people first, Mister Esquivel!" the man with the nukes rapidly explained to the very indifferent Mister Esquivel.

"I see," he murmured, pulling out a laptop from a bag at his side. A quick flicker of his fingers over the keypad brought up a window, and he placed the laptop on the desk and clicked a button. Suddenly, muffled noises of panic began issuing from the speakers, and the President paled.

The laptop was turned to face the man behind the desk whose face, if possible, lost even more colour while his eyes went impossibly wide.

There, on the screen, sat his wife, bound to a chair and gagged. Around her stood three masked and heavily armed men, pointing P-90s in her general direction.

"It's your choice, Mister President. The money in my account or a bullet in your wife's head," he said smoothly, as if haggling for a deal on a car.

"Please, I-" the President tried, before his opponent cocked an eyebrow and pushed up his glasses so that they reflected the light and hid his unsympathetic eyes from view.

From a desk drawer, the chief of state pulled out a check book that was linked directly to his personal funds and wrote down the appropriate number; one with far too many zeroes to be reasonable. This number he showed to the now smirking Mister Esquivel, who nodded and watched as it was signed and torn out of the book.

"Put her on the first plane back to DC, gentlemen," he ordered his underlings, who saluted and shut off their camera. He shut the laptop, slipping it into his bag along with the check.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mister President," he purred, and made his way out of the room.

The door closed on a man, a desk and a glass of milk.

* * *

Mister Esquivel, or Raf as he was known to his friends, hummed a merry tune as he patted the messenger bag at his side. He smiled at the secretaries and other staff members that he passed, and they all greeted the "nephew" of the President with smiles and, in the case of the lady at the front desk, a sweet which he popped in his mouth.

He casually strolled to the yellow Camaro that sat awaiting him in the driveway and slid into the passenger's seat. The vehicle took off without a driver in sight, not that anybody noticed.

"_≠How did it go?≠_" Bumblebee beeped at him, easily navigating the traffic on the way to the airport.

"Good," Raf replied, smiling brightly and looking for all the world like an innocent child, "I got the money, I didn't have to kill the President's wife to get it and the next shipment can go ahead as scheduled."

"_≠As expected of my Raf,≠_" was the smug reply, and Raf preened.

"Apparently we'll be able to get you that new paintjob after all, 'Bee."

The car around him made a noise of inarticulate joy and Raf's grin stretched further as the evil duo made their way to the plane that would return them to dull and dusty Jasper, Nevada.

* * *

**+ MEANWHILE, IN THE PRESIDENT'S OFFICE +**

The President of the United States shivered as the Camaro sedately made its way out of the White House's grounds. He had no idea, of course, that the car was sentient, he simply shuddered at the thought of the diabolical child within it.

He turned away from the window and shuddered at the sight of the glass of milk that had condensation running down it's sides.

He pressed the intercom button that would summon his secretary and sat heavily in his chair. The woman walked in with a polite smile plastered on her face, "What can I do for you, Mister President?" she asked.

He pointed at the glass, "Have that destroyed. Burn it, crush it to dust, I don't care. Just don't let it come near my mouth ever again," he ordered somewhat harshly, and the startled secretary nodded and grabbed the glass before scurrying out of the room.

He stared at the ring on water left behind and bit back a sob; truly, Rafael Esquivel was as evil an Overlord as they came.


End file.
